I write too much.

I don't mean that I write too often. I mean when I do write, that I write a lot of words. Too many sometimes.

I wonder why this is.

Sometimes they are important and other times they are not.

I cannot justify it one way or the other, though. I cannot say that it is good--because perhaps it is not. Short and sweet is the way to go, right? No, no, you see--everything is in the details. I'm big on details. Sometimes I get lost in them and have to dig my way back out.

I'm not sure if this is a problem. Description is something I so love to write. Weaving in and out and between the lines, getting into the thick of what I'm telling--that sometimes I believe that I cannot see the pages for lines [that, my friends is the literary version of "I cannot see the forest for the trees"--I am so creative]. I am like Tolkien in this respect. I could write an entire chapter in a novel about the history of a road and how it came to be and completely forget that Frodo must get the ring to Mount Doom before it is too late.

But, I cannot imagine my stories without these everlong tellings of nonsensical things. They are who I am. It is in my chapter long descriptions that I find who I truly am as a writer. It is true that perhaps they will be dispelled from the story eventually, but for now, I believe I find a small kind of creative solace in them.

They are routed in realism--I'm not too big on the abstract, not that I wouldn't love to be, I just I'm not too creative when it comes to such things--so, it is not that they are silly feelings or metaphors of blue-skyed souls. No, they are simply descriptions. Of a character, or a place, or an object. And they are long.

I wonder if this is a bad thing. I wonder if I will ever know. I wonder if I will always be lost in them. I wonder if I will always write too many words.

Oh, the adventure that is writing. I love it so.